Dean's Musings
by the little spanko
Summary: Dean is SPANKED for improvising when a hunt goes bad. This story explores why Dean always gets those humorous looks on his face whenever he's in trouble….it's the thoughts that go through his head.


Written for Team Disciplinary for the 2012 Summer Challenge for SPN_spankings.

* * *

The rhythm became my existence, pounding away in 2/4 time as I lay boneless over his lap. My vision went blurry and I blinked hard, releasing the tears so that I could see the floor again. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. I'm older. I watch out for _**him**_. He didn't want to hear how I'd done it for him, to protect him. He was being a little bitch again, and my ass was paying for it. I tried to fight, I did, but the kid's a freakin' moose. _How they hell did he grow so __**big**__?_ We ate the same damn food, had the same damn parents. It isn't fair. It figures, too – I've shown Gigantor those moves a hundred times. Does he ever think to use them when he gets stuck in a hunt? Nope. But I piss him off today, once out of a million pissings offs of his lifetime, and suddenly all the damn training I ever gave the little bitch comes back to bite me in a heartbeat. _**Oh hell no….**_

"SAMMY! You are Not taking my….HEY, you are _NOT_ TAKING MY JEANS….OW! _SonofaBITCH_!"

"SHUDDUP DEAN!" he yells at me and does it anyway. Bitch. I'm not laying here with my bare ass in the air! There should be some sort of rule against that! God, his friggin' moose hands _hurt_ and I can't get away from him cuz he's got me trapped down over his knee. See, I can take _his_ pants down and bare _his_ ass cuz I'm older. I changed his freakin' diapers, he didn't change _mine_. When I do it, it's the correct order of things. …something Sammy doesn't understand suddenly. _Ah, ow_. I'm not gonna be able to keep this rant going in my head much longer. Worked for a little while there, but, **oh** – yea, yea this is gettin' bad. OW. He's not stopping. Stop hittin' the same damn place! No! Not the thighs, Sammy, not the… ooooooooh God, just move a quarter inch anywhere the fuck else! ….. Oh thank God, thank God, he's _**done**_!

I hear him pick up a belt. "Sammy don't!" Man that sounded pathetic. He's folding the thing over! "Sammy, c'mon…"

"No, _you_ come on, Dean! You know better than to use yourself as a diversion WITH…" SWAT "OW!" "…YOUR…" SWAT "OW!" "…OWN…" SWAT "OOW!" "…DAMNED..." SWAT "OOW!" "…BODY!" SWAT "_OOW_!"

"It got her attention off you, bitch face!" I yelled, and then realized I just bought myself a lot more time with the damned belt. Sammy isn't moving, and I look up to see his eyes bulging and his mouth working, like he's trying very hard not to kill me himself. _Scary_. My name's Dean Winchester and my special talent is causing homicidal rage in those around me. Why the hell does goofy shit like that always go through my mind right when I'm about to get my ass handed to me?! Awp, _great_, Sammy thinks the smirk was directed at him. I'm dead. I'd rather look at the shitty carpeting than at Sasquatch rage. …I wonder if Cas would get me out of this if I called to him?

I hear the belt whistle. It connects hard and I can't hold back a ….the manliest whimper anyone's ever heard. Ok, so now I sound like a girl with the whimpering and the pleading, but Geez, he's really _really_ angry at me and the belt just won't stop; I'm sweatin' bullets now and all my muscles are shaking.

"Are you ever gonna do something so stupid again?!"

"No," I tell him, but I know that I will. It's my job to protect him. My job doesn't entail protecting him _only_ if I get out safe, too.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Why'd you bother asking, then?" I shoot back. The pain! OH, Sammy knows how to swing a belt. Sweet Jesus, I'm not gettin' out of this alive. Sammy is gonna kill me through my damn ass – _that sounds gross_. I'm seeing flashes in my eyes with every connection of the belt now. Fuck no, he's tipping me forward – don't do it, Sammy! Not there! GAH! OWW! God, stop crying! Don't cry! "I'm s-sorry!" I yell.

"You better be," is all I get.

"_Please_," I beg. In my book, if you're already sobbing then begging doesn't make you a girl.

"There are two ways you could have handled that hunt better when it went bad. If you had walked just five feet forward on your left you'd of had a clear shot. I know you could see that," Sammy was telling me suddenly.

"If she sped up while I was walking you could be dead," I rush out in one breath. Sammy hmmphs.

"You also could have thrown the vase that was next to you to create a diversion that way," he says, and it's true. That thought crossed my mind too, but….

"If she was intent on the kill, it might not of snapped her out of it," I tell him.

Sammy stops. Thank all that is holy, Sammy stops.

"You were _that_ scared?"

What the fuck kind of question is _**that**_?! I turn to look at him; not believing he'd just asked me that.

"You're an asshole," I tell him.

Sammy gives me his puppy eyes and grins, and I roll my own eyes when his fill with tears, the _girl_.

"You're an idiot," he tells me, releasing his grip.

I roll off his lap and hike my clothing back up as I stand. I wipe my face on my sleeve and then grimace at the snot trail connecting my face to my arm.

"Gross," he laughs at me.

"Bitch," I call him, walking to him and trying to stick my snot stained arm in his face as he turns away from me on the bed and flails, laughing. I'm laughing, too, once I give the side of his cheek a good smear of snot and he makes a gagging sound as he laughs.

This is how things are supposed to be. Me in charge, irritating the hell out of the little bitch.


End file.
